


Knuckles

by CrimeAlley1048



Category: Batfamily - Fandom, Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics), Grayson (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 21:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4761815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimeAlley1048/pseuds/CrimeAlley1048
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barbara, right after she finds out Dick is alive</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knuckles

Really, Barbara should have known. That’s what she told herself, over and over again, to the rhythm of her fists beating at her bag— _should have known. Obvious. Of course_. She should have seen this coming. After all, in all her years of dealing with Batman, when had trusting him ever done her good?  
She swung her fist savagely at the padded surface of her training bag, knocking it backwards on it’s base. _Liar. LIAR._  
For God’s sake, hadn’t she been through enough?  
Barbara stepped away from the bag, rubbing at her knuckles. They were starting to bleed. Good. That always made her feel better, somehow— if you were bleeding, the pain wasn’t _just_ inside you. She dropped into a ready position, facing the wall of mirrors, and took a deep breath.  
So Dick was alive. She should have known. She should have read the signs: the look on Bruce’s face when she broke down in the cave, months ago, and he had to hold her because Dick wasn’t there anymore, or the way he turned away when Damian mentioned he’d seen Grayson in his nightmares. She remembered every line of his face— she remembered everything— and now that she was looking, the guilt was stamped on every inch of it.  
Barbara let her hands fall back to her sides. They were shaking anyway.  
How could he do that to her? And Dick… she didn’t want to think about Dick right now, but she couldn’t seem to stop. He left her. How could he leave her like that, alone and heartbroken and grieving, when a single message could have ended it all? Why wouldn’t he just _tell_ her that he was okay?  
Barbara turned back to her bag— maybe she should paint the Nightwing logo on that, or whatever he was wearing these days. Maybe that would make her feel better.  
The punching helped, a little bit. It was good to feel her heart pounding against her collar bones, her lungs struggling for air, the sting in the first two knuckles of both her hands. She wanted to be moving— she wanted to keep moving forever, away from Dick and Bruce and anybody else that didn’t care about her as much as they said they did. And eventually, she would collapse. Maybe then she could sleep.  
Barbara threw another set of punches at her bag, wincing as one of her fingers snapped loudly. Shit. She settled onto a bench by the mirrors and pulled the wrapping off of her fists, inspecting her hands— there was already a bruise swelling around her second knuckle. Probably broken. Great.  
She watched the blood ooze from her knuckles, down her first finger, and into the crease of her thumb. Her hands hurt. Good.  
They might as well match the rest of her.  
She didn’t want to go back home. Dick might be waiting for her. He would probably want to talk— explain his choices, maybe, or just beg her to forgive him. She didn’t want to deal with that now. She didn’t want to see him. Barbara buried her face in her bloody hand. She didn’t know how to feel.  
She was happy he was alive, really— she would rather have him alive than dead, no matter what he’d done. But she was angry, and he was going to feel it. He deserved it. He could only blame himself.  
She couldn’t believe she’d trusted him. Barbara smiled at the thought, and before she knew it, she was laughing— crazy, hysterical laughter that echoed around her training room and down the empty hallway. It was hilarious, if you thought about it. It was really, really funny.  
Until she looked up and caught sight of herself in the mirrors, laughing with a bloody handprint smeared across her face. A smile.  
Barbara froze, staring at her reflection. All of a sudden, it was hard to breathe. She couldn’t seem to pull in enough air— she was gasping, desperate, swiping at the bloody smile. She needed to leave. She needed it _gone_.  
She grabbed her bag and ran, away from her reflection and the blood on the floor.


End file.
